Kindred
by TAL12-no-ruruJuNi
Summary: He almost never sleeps, his father hates him, and he makes paintings. He knows his mother loves him, but she's never there. Who can blame him for sympathising with the girl in that creepy tape he rented?
1. Blank Vid

Hyo! TAl here! this is a weird little story I rammed out after reading wayyy to much Ring/Ringu fanfics and having read JTHM wayyy to many times.

I guess the concept is simple: What if a kindred spirit, or something close to it, picked up the phone? Or even better, what if she let someone live?

ttttttt normall thoughts.

_tttttttt_flashbacks.

"ttttttt" speaking.

The moonlight seems so pretty. I don't know why I'm staring at it. I usually never even really see it.

Maybe It's because I'm scared.

_So scared, So scared. I swear I could hear that screaming in my head as I looked at the vid'. That stuped vid in the rentall shop._

_Just get 'So Scared', the big blockbuster movie you were planning on. You don't have enough money for more than one vid. It's a blank-face vid anyway._

_I had to make my decition fast, they never trust me in there. They think that because I'm thin and pale with long hair and black clothing that I'm up to something._

_I I wish I hadn't done it. hadn't gotten it, and I really, really. . . _

I shouldn't be. It's a prank, that's all. An elaborate prank by one of those FUCKHEADS at school. The vidio, the phonecalls. . . even _IF_ I know that they don't have the brains for that.

Even if it dosn't explain the photos. twenty photos, all poloroids, sit on my bed. All of them warped and distorted.

My 'freinds'? Maybe Benny. He IS a photo-geek. But he's not that cruel. And NO-one I know could think up something as twisted as that vid.

Exept, maybe, me.

_Me. It's me alright. Black t-shirt, Colombine-esque trenchcoat, and black jeans._

_But my face, my face! it's al twisted and marred, and. . . what the HELL is that behind me! It looks like the window of the restraunt. . . has something (a horse?) scratched into the glass._

_Another pictiure. A red tree. That tree was green. it's SUMMER for crists sake. And my face looks fractiured. . . _

_That vid'. . . . what the FUCK is going on!_

Going on, the T.V seems to crackle. Mocking me. What time is it? Fuck, I think it's four in the morning.

Oh, well. I never sleep anyway. My mom hates that. And my father, hell, he LOATHS it. My father hates me. He hates the way I dress, he hates how I never sleep, and oh, how he hates my painting.

That girl. . . that girl in the vid. . . I'd like to paint her. . . she looks so sad, so . . . terrified,but so haunting. She reminds me of this one pic of me when i was little, with me standing be tween my parents. I remember that day. When that pic' was shot, all I wanted was for one of them, both of them to hug me.

I wanted to be loved. . . . that's all I wanted then. Now I go between wishing that, and wanting to kill them.

I don't know what I want.

_I want to know who's doing this. Who's calling me. That voice. . . it's a voice RIGHT out of my nightmares._

_Or a dream, a memory. . . . anything but reality._

The phone rings. I know who it's gonna be.

I had better get it. Mom has work tommorow.

"_four days. . ."_

I knew it.

"Hey, hold on."

Shit! WhadamIgonnasaynow!

I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Could I know you're name?"

A pause, I wonder if I'll get any answer, when out of nowhere, a little girls voice responds.

"My name is Samara. Who're you?"

I smile. A girl. . . Huh. Who'd put a little girl up to something like this? Maybe it WAS the jockos.

"It's Andy. Andrew."

Andy jr. Not that I'd EVER admit that. God, I hate my dad. . . .

"Andrew, why do want my name?"

She sounds like a cute kid. Sad, though. . . why is her voice ecoing? Bad reception. Sounds like there's water in the backround, too.

"I'd like to make a pictiure of you. You, the girl in the vid'?"

A silence.

"You. . . make pictiures?"

She sounds like she's gonna cry? Shit! WhadIdo!

"How. . . do you make the pictiures?"

The voice. . . . isn't coming out of the phone anymore. The voice, The voice is behind me. BEHIND ME!

I turn, and look at the TV. The girl. In front of the well. She's looking at me, and she looks like she's gonna cry. shit! Oh, my god. . . she looks like she's dead. . I know I must have dropped the phone, but it dosn't matter because she's IN THE TV! Okay, stay cool, stay cool. . . .

"How do you make you're pictiures?" She asks again. She sounds so needy. I swallow the thimble-full of spittle in my mouth, and answer. The same aqnswer I always give people about my paintings, because I've never thought of anything better.

"I-i, see them in my mind. I see them, and I make them."

She looks so happy. AND DEAD! God this is creepy. . . and no-way it's a joke now.

She smiles, and suddenly, the screen goes black. the room goes dark, and I could swear to god I hear horses. And waves.

I don't think I'm ever going to sleep again. And that voice, that voice comes out of the darkness. Not from the TV, but to the side of me. . .

"I'll make you a pictiure. . . ."

OWARI Desu ka (End?)

. . . not that I answered that second question at all. But I might, if I get some reveiws! Reveiws make me feel alll fuzzy! I might make a sequel or a second chapter if i get enough reveiws. . . (Wink wink nudge nudge say no more mum's the word)

Anyway, phone rings in backround Umm. . . picks it up

Yes? Oh goodie! hangs up phone. My pizza is gonna be here! RR, and TAl no RuruSan signing off!


	2. You're movie don't end this way

Moshi Moshi! Wow!I got reveiwy-ness! Yaaayyy! And sense all of them asked for more, here you go! I hope you enjoy it! This story also got me my first placement on Author Alert Lists!I feel loved.

Reveiw Responses:

xNationMcKinlyx: Thank you! I'm actioually trying a different writing style with this fic, and I'm glad to hear someone liked it.

krazypirategurl: O.k.! Phw33r the 2 chapter!

Blood Stained Sorceress: On the rating thing, I beleive that the swearing alone is not enough to justify anything past a PG-13 rating. If anything gory, or sexuall happens, I'll boost the rating, but otherwise: screw it. (Y all in good fun. Thanks for the reveiw!)

Kiari: Here you go! just for you!

bienert: Yayy! Thank you. . for you, a Samara Plushie! It's a little wet. . .

Ukari-Chan: Hai!

Allana-of-Olau: Sure thing. But if you liked it, ehy am I on you're Alert List? T.T

White.

He had never liked white. Claimed it made his eyes hurt.

If he was awake right then, he probably would have made a horrible fuss about it.

But as it was, he could only lay there, black wispy hair a stark contrast against the off-white walls, starch-white sheets, and sanitary-white hospitall gown.

His pale skin made it hard to even see him. He looked small in the empty room, the only sound being his soft breath and the incessant **_beep-beepbeep-beep _**of the machines around him.

_" Hey, Kiddo! You're going to be late for school!" His mother yelled. _

_She walked in, slamming the door open. She had always made a point of at least having breakfast with her son, and to drive him to school. So when he over slept, she was never lenient with him. _

_They had agreed long ago that he would have no bedtimes, so long as he never woke her up, and as long as he always was up when he was supposed to. Weekends he could grunge as much as he wanted to. _

_Whatever she may have said next died in her throat. Her son, her Adie, her little baby boy was lying on the floor, unmoving, unbreathing, silent._

_But by the time the ambulence arrived she had discovered that he was just breathing, just breathing to softly to see. _

_But still, he would not wake to his mothers silent, desperate tears. He had been admited as a coma patient as he lay, eyes moving in frantic patterns of REM sleep._

"Jezzus christ! You look fucked up, my man."

He had gotten in as a freind of the patient, after some scruteny from the nurse. He was tall, almost too tall for a fifteen year old, a self proclamed 'kolumbine kid' type. Scraggly black jeans, knee high boots, red t-shirt, a black trench coat with a multitute of bizzare patches, mostly all decorative, and long, ponytailed, Legolas-worthy hair.

Just sincere enough to be let in, but scary enough to be watched.

He flopped down in a cahir, glumly looking at his freind.

"Shit. And here I was hoping Ota was joking when she said you looked right outta Akira, man."

Chin resting on fists, elbows on knees, he sat silently for a few seconds, watching the twitching of eyes behind closed lids.

". . . . wake up, man. You can't die like this. You're movie don't end this way."

_They had become freinds through a mutiall curiosity in sixth grade. Both intrigued, by the other's odd appearance and way of acting._

_Before long, they were a common sight. Andrew and Marcus, Blond and Black, Short and Tall, and later refered to by some as 'The Feak Brothers'._

_They had had to come up with new insults the day they had come to school wearing matching trenchcoats with 'Freak Brothers' proudly displayed on the back._

_A few years later, Marcus was even taller, and had patches (bought Hot Topic Made, self-made, actiuall repairs, and a few pictiures) sewn on his jacket, leading his freind to call him Patches most of the time._

_His best freind however, still only a few inches taller than in sixth grade, louder and more pissant than ever, trench faded and worn, still insisted on calling him Blondy. Or 'Fucking Longlegs', but that's a different matter._

_And either way, either name made Blondy smile. He never would admit it, but he diddn't care what his freind called him. just so long as he was there._

_So when Andy had been admitted to the coma ward, the first person she had thought to call had been him. _

He was sitting next to the bed now, knowing he wouldn't be heard, but starting to despise the silence.

"I'm sorry I diddn't come earlyer, okay? You know how I am. . . . i diddn't want to see you like this. I know how lame that sounds. "

Another lapse into silence. Untill he noticed a nother peice of black against all that gloddamned white.

he pulled it out of the sheets. "A film negative? From Ben?" No. It looked like a negative of a pictiure of som e little kids drawing.

"Well, that's creepy."

_The meadow again. It was always the medow. or that dark, wet place. Of sometimes that room._

_He shuddered. The room scared him now. Even when the 'loop' as he called it had started it had creeped him out. reminded him too much of the little room from when his dad had still been around._

_Those memorys were back because she had asked about them. Another conversation with the girl that held him in this loop._

_He had taken to calling her Sama. Samara was too long for him. Full names bugged him, anyway. _

_He looked up into the sky, listning to the muffeld voice his body was hearing._

_". . . Blondie? Shit! It's blondie! I figured he'd get around to visiting me sooner or later."_

_He looked around, making sure she wasn't there to hear right then._

_"Wake me up, blondie. Figure it out! I don't think I can take much more of this."_

"Excuse me, sir? Visiting hours are almost up now."

Blondie scrubbed at his red, wet eyes and stood up. He would be coming back the next day, he knew that much.

"Are you a freind of his, sir?"

He smiled tieredly. "Yeah. I am."

"Then do you think you could take this to his mother? We told her to come pick it up, but she hasn't been able to.

he nodded, taking the bag.

Later, he would nearly cry again when he found the trnchcoat in there. He would sit, just holding it.

And it would be during that time he would feel the sharp corner of something in the pocket.

And wonder at the blank black tape he had found.

"_seven days"_

**End Chapter Two.**


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